The big smoke of Takeo & the Killing Fields

This morning we started of at 7.00am and were bused to Chheong Ek (spelling may be up the pole), otherwise known as the killing fields. Again even though we have been here before you can't help get over whelmed by the emotion of it all. It is a tragic place where over 20,000 people lost their lives, and were buried in shallow mass graves. You are met at the entrance by a 17 story tower full of 8,500 skulls of some of the victims. Our guide had lost his parents, sister and uncle. This was the work of Pol Pot when he ruled with terror in the country. It is sobering to note you are walking over the bones and clothing of the victims.

We cycled from there, on sealed roads, thank goodness, through the country side stopping a couple of times for coffee and lunch. The total cycling was 66km today. It got so hot though in the last stages after lunch, again up around 35. We have reached Takeo and have booked into our cold water only guest house. We have just heard this morning about the Air NZ airbus going down and several of the team are due to fly from here to Bangkok after the challenge, so we are not sure what will be happening really for them.

Smey at the local hairdressers

Takeo is not a big place, and in fact does not really have any stunning features. We have been for a walk down to the town, and again we supplied the locals with a bit of entertainment. Still the kids love crying out hello, and when we answer, giggle histerically.

Now I hand over again to the wonderful Jeannette for her thoughts on today:

Big deep breath in to control emotion.

The Killing Fields. The name is chilling. The presentation is dramatic. The reality is terrible.
Our guide is a stern face Cambodian aged fifty one and from his first words utside a multi-storied tower, layered with human skulls his pain and anger invaded us. I didn't like him.
The fields are honeycombed with many shallow graves now cleared of the 300 bodies of men women and children that once each depression had held. He strode angrily from station to station each one of which carried an icy description of terrible acts of cruelty and murder. He demanded our attention as he graphically acted the part of the murderers and took us with
him into his painful past. His face was full of anguish and hatred of the Pol Pot regime and he constantly reminded us, "I was there! I saw it! I remember!" Each retelling of his story has reinforced his despair, has hardened his heart. I was beginning to understand and forgive the austerity of his personality.

Many of us by now were visibly shocked and emotional. He reached out and took my hand. Forcing it high up above my head and touching the tree, he said. "The children. Arms chopped off!" as he lunged against my arm. At the end of this tour on which we learned that he had lost his grandfather, his uncle, his parents, his brother, his everything, I wanted to ease his pain. I wanted to surround him with our collective comfort, to hold him close to me. And so I did. I loved him now. He was receptive to my embrace and kept murmuring,"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I was so glad to have over-ridden any inhibition to comfort him. That night I could only pray,"Please God, bring peace to this tortured man."